


Slice

by Kate_Monster



Category: The OA (TV)
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:10:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9259556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kate_Monster/pseuds/Kate_Monster
Summary: The captives win a small victory, and Homer has a lot of time to think.





	

It’s Rachel who comes up with the idea to negotiate with Hap to get us books.

Hap likes to read, we think, because keeps a robust library upstairs. As Rachel points out to us when she formulates this plan, he can only read one book at a time, and otherwise, they’re all sitting around gathering dust while we sit downstairs, our brains on the verge of atrophy. 

We don’t have much bargaining power on this issue, as Scott points out during our strategy session.

“What exactly are you gonna say to him? Everything he needs from us he just takes, it’s not like he has to ask.” He’s leaning against the wall, his back to all of us, but his irritated voice still carries.

“He doesn’t have our cooperation,” Rachel points out.

“I’m not cooperating with _him_ ,” I say. “Ever. Books or no books.” I resume the sit-ups I’ve been doing on the floor of my cell. It’s the middle of the day and I always do my sit-ups before I take my afternoon nap.

“Be reasonable,” Scott snaps. “Being a dick is just going to leave us down here, totally bored, and he’ll still take what he needs without asking. Because he _can_.” His tone is loaded with a threat that we all know is legitimate.

“We could protest,” Rachel suggests. “We start yelling, we take turns, we don’t stop until he gives us what we’re asking for. We make him crazy.”

“Or we could just… ask,” Prairie says. “And see what his reaction is.” I roll my eyes at the top of a sit-up. “I’ll do it, I’ll ask.”

“Sure. That’ll work. You can’t even read.”

“How do you know that?” I snap at Scott. She’s never said anything like that.

“Because,” he says in a condescending tone, “think about it. She said she could only ever see in Russia, and they don’t even use the same alphabet as us.”

I stop at the top of my sit-up and stare at Prairie. “Is that true?”

She shrugs. So he’s right. “I read Braille,” she says defensively. My hands fall to the ground and I settle into a seated position as I consider this.

“We aren’t getting any books in Braille,” Scott says. It’s not quite a sneer, but it’s definitely pointed.

“You can read to me just fine,” Prairie retorts. “My ears work.”

“Who said I’m planning to read out loud?”

“Okay,” Rachel says, cutting off the fight, probably because like all of us, she doesn’t like seeing Prairie get snappy. “Prairie, why don’t you try asking? He’s listened to you before, maybe if you catch him in a good mood.”

“I’ll read to you,” I add. “I could teach you how to read regular writing.” I have no idea how I would do that, but odds are good that we’ll have plenty of time to figure it out. “And in the meantime, Scott, maybe you can try and fit reading out loud into your busy schedule somewhere.”

Scott actually lets down his defenses and snorts a laugh at that. “I’ll take it under consideration.” He stands up and starts pacing his cell, which at least means he’s no longer standing with his back to us, so I think his guard is finally down.

“It’s the least you could do for all the stories she’s told us. Which clearly you were listening to.”

“Not like I had a choice there, brother.”

He says it sarcastically, but Scott really is like a brother to me, in every way.

Most of the time, I can’t stand the guy. Both of us know deep down, though we’ve never said it out loud, that if we had met on the outside, we would have taken a few seconds to size each other up and would have quickly figured out that neither of us had anything to offer the other. We couldn’t be more opposite.

Guys like Scott hate guys like me. I’m too mainstream, too complacent, too pampered for his taste. Guys like me hate guys like Scott because they’re in our way, and maybe they represent a darkness we don’t want to acknowledge. As we’ve gotten to know each other better over the years, we’ve recognized that we’re polar opposites in our temperaments as well, and that he hates me for my earnestness, while I despise him for his candor.

But down here, even though we each understand our mutual distaste, we have no choice but to work together. Maybe we’ll never be friends, but we’re brothers in a way that we can’t deny. Even as we snap back and forth across our prison cells, even as we hate each other, I know that I love Scott, deeply. He can insult me and offend me to my core, and I can launch scathing arguments back at him, but our mutual enemy and our shared captivity binds us in a way that no one else will ever understand. For years, we’ve been the only two men trapped down here, and no amount of hostility can take that away from us.

I want to see only the best things happen for him, and I know that if we were ever in the same room, I would find it hard not to throw my arms around him and give him a strong hug, even though I’ve spent a considerable amount of time over the past few years considering how smelly he looks to me.

We’re each too proud to say it, but in spite of our enmity, or maybe because of it, we know we’re brothers, and because I know what it means to be a brother, I know it means we’re bound to each other for life.

I’m not sure if Scott really grasps that part of it, but if it ever becomes necessary, I’ll help him understand.

It’s a thought that cements itself in my mind later, when Prairie is victorious in her simple strategy to _just ask_.

Hap can’t let himself be seen indulging us too much, so instead he opens the cage doors, one at a time, on our promises to step back and behave. We know from previous attempts that we’re not going to get one over on him like this, so one at a time, we each step back as far away from the door as possible and hold our hands up, showing our submission as he leaves a handful of books right inside each door, then closes and locks us back in. Only Prairie doesn't get a stack, because as far as Hap knows she's not going to be able to see the books, and none of us are about to tell him otherwise. 

Once the door swings shut, indicating that he’s back upstairs, Rachel squeals and dives for the stack of books. “Okay, what’s everybody got?” she asks.

There’s Shakespeare and philosophy, poetry and biographies and science fiction. But the one that almost makes me cry is a thin volume stuck between two thicker ones in my stack. He didn’t know, he couldn’t have known, so all I can do is thank fate.

“The Outsiders?” Scott asks, skeptical of my delight. “Isn’t that a kid’s book?”

“Young adult,” I correct him, pointedly.

It’s the first one I read out loud for the others, mostly because it’s short and simple, but it’s also a book that I remember fondly from my eighth grade English class. The tale of orphaned Ponyboy and his sweet longing for sunsets in the midst of violent teenage class warfare always struck a chord with me, and I read it so many times that now, I can almost stop looking at the page sometimes. The words still stick with me even as they take on a profound new meaning. Something about Ponyboy’s idealism makes me think of Prairie, but the fierce brotherhood between the greaser boys makes me think of Scott.

“It’s nice to be somewhere else for awhile,” Prairie says dreamily that night as we’re falling asleep. “I’ve never been to Oklahoma before.”

I have to chuckle at that. “You still haven’t.” Unless we’re in Oklahoma now, but based on our previous analysis, I don’t think it’s likely, so I don’t bring it up. 

“I forgot there were sunsets.”

“They’re nice,” I agree.

“Tell me what they look like.”

I can barely remember, either, but one time we went to the beach in Los Angeles and I watched the sun set over the ocean. “Brilliant,” I say, closing my eyes and trying to jog my memory. “They happen so quickly when you’re watching. The sun hovers on the horizon and then goes down in a matter of seconds and the sky explodes. You never know until the sky turns what colors you’re going to get. Pinks and purples and oranges and golds. Clouds make them better. They shade the colors in all different directions, like a painter going crazy.”

“I love that you stopped and watched them,” she says.

“I really liked that book, for awhile,” is all that I can think of to say.

“We had sunsets in Pittsburgh, too,” Scott speaks up suddenly from a few feet away. I hadn’t realized he was still awake and listening to us.

"I bet they looked the same,” I offer.

“I didn’t look. Probably.” The word hangs in the air for a while, taking on meaning in a way that I’m not sure he or I intended.

I know, from what little he’s said about it, that he doesn’t have anyone to go back to on the outside. I’ve also spent hours awake at night thinking about how I would help him if we were ever rescued. If we ever got out of here, what would happen to Scott?

I don’t know about bringing him to live with me – I don’t think he, or my family, or even I would be happy about _that_ – but maybe, I decided, maybe I could persuade him to live nearby, to accept some support, to have a friend. One real friend. Something I don’t think he has right now. Someone who won’t ever give up on him, no matter how much he tries to push them away.

That, I’m willing to do.

No, that’s what I’m _going_ to do.

I’ve never said it out loud, because there’s too much hope in the thought to consider, but it’s a decision I’ve settled into quite comfortably.

“It’s my turn tomorrow,” Scott says. Again, I didn’t realize he was still awake. I open my eyes. I see across from me in the dim light that Prairie’s eyes are closed. Rachel usually falls asleep first. It’s probably just him and me now. “What do you think I should read, Homeslice?”

I have to smile into the darkness. Scott doesn’t use that nickname for me much. But I like it when he does. Maybe it’s because as much as we hate each other, I’m also a sentimental fool sometimes. And also because he’s dropped his saltiness at having to share his books. I guess The Outsiders got through to him. I’ll take it for now. “Didn’t you get a Shakespeare collection? I think we should do The Tempest.” I vaguely remember that one from an English class too, but I remember enough to know it’ll keep us engaged for a few hours, and the topic ought to resonate a bit.

“I’d think you’d be in the mood for a little Romeo and Juliet.”

“Uh.” I watch for a reaction from Prairie, but if she’s still awake, she doesn’t let on. “Yeah. No. It’s so overdone. And after The Outsiders, it’s just a cliché.”

“I wish we had Gone With the Wind.”

Right. The book that Ponyboy reads to his best friend Johnny during their own exile. I get it. “Maybe. But. It’s actually a really racist book.”

“Dude.” Scott laughs. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“I was a Literature major.”

“You never told me that.”

 I chuckle into the darkness. “What’d you think I majored in?”

“Football?”

“That’s not a major.”

“Well, I didn’t go to college, so.”

“I know.” We fall into silence again. “Do you think you ever would?” I ask after a long break. “If you had a chance.” But if Scott is still awake, he doesn’t want to answer me, and I’m met with silence. I’m probably the only one awake in the moist darkness of our basement prison now, which means it’s time to roll over on my side and close my eyes for the night.

If we ever get out of here, I don’t want him to go back to drugs. I know it wouldn’t be easy for him. I get it. It would have to be so tempting to try to erase all the memories and sink back into a chemical haze, ignoring the pain and the loneliness and the fear. If I had a bottle of bourbon down here with me, it wouldn’t last a day. But that’s not a good answer. I want him to have a chance. Maybe I could help him try.

It’s a nice thought, and it carries me back into my happy, ignorant, peaceful world of slumber, letting me dream about a world where I have agency, where I can help the people I care about, where I have choices and a life beyond being an animal in a cage.

And someday, maybe if we can all work together, it might even happen.

And if not, the thought is enough to keep me at peace with myself, for now, anyway.


End file.
